This is a feed from pomesonpoets, which is the name of the original blog. I called it "pomes" after the Pomes Penny Each of James Joyce. The aim of the blog is to capture moments with poets real or imaginary. I will continue to post on "pomes" and transfer the content here for those who may have searched for "poems". Thank you for visiting.

Friday, 21 March 2008

The homing signals they once sent outhave stopped transmitting;and though Earth’s orbit swirls gently,and the road banks steeply to the right,and we encounter the disc of the sundropping into a sea of mist,there’re not for finding now; they’re gone.

Most years ago, some just the other daylost without trace or track;each one opening another crackin my painted shell of property –none washed up, none brought backto the beach of life expectancy.

Lost like props or stage tableaux,once at my side or in my hand,these shadows: chiaroscurosassembled in another land,a cloud bank where I cannot go;a glass that chance filled up with sand.

The road banks steeply to the left;its tar picks up a cool dampness,and we encounter the disc of the sunrising out of a sea of mistas if by chemical legerdemain.The lost objects spinning in their orbits,no less, phantasmagorically exist.

The homing signals they once sent outhave stopped transmitting;and though Earth’s orbit swirls gently,and the road banks steeply to the right,and we encounter the disc of the sundropping into a sea of mist,there’re not for finding now; they’re gone.

Most years ago, some just the other daylost without trace or track;each one opening another crackin my painted shell of property –none washed up, none brought backto the beach of life expectancy.

Lost like props or stage tableaux,once at my side or in my hand,these shadows: chiaroscurosassembled in another land,a cloud bank where I cannot go;a glass that chance filled up with sand.

The road banks steeply to the left;its tar picks up a cool dampness,and we encounter the disc of the sunrising out of a sea of mistas if by chemical legerdemain.The lost objects spinning in their orbits,no less, phantasmagorically exist.